


Home

by greatdistractions



Category: fallen london - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21791998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greatdistractions/pseuds/greatdistractions
Summary: Iris leaves the Surface to move to the Neath.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Home

Iris grabbed an oversized jacket and filled the pockets with knives (she didn’t yet know how to use) and money (she would have confiscated upon her arrest). Her partner, Lockhart, did their best to appear calm. “I just don’t understand why you need to do this.”

“The constables aren’t going to find out who killed Dirk, so I have to.”

“But you didn’t even like him!”

“No,” Iris agreed. “But I liked our parents and they would want revenge.”  
Lockhart reached out to grab her arm, but stopped themself. Instead, they crossed their own arms. “You’re being an idiot.”

“I know.” Iris took one last look at their apartment. It was shabby (like the pair themselves) but she knew she would miss it all the same. She forced her hazel eyes away from Lockhart and their home, focusing instead on her reflection. She tucked a few stray brown ringlets back under her hat; made sure her bursting pockets didn’t bulge unnaturally against her wiry frame; and wiped a smear of soot from her olive skin.

“You’re going to come back, right?” Lockhart asked.

“I will."  
~~~  
Not even a month had passed before Lockhart made their own journey to the Neath. Their friends had told them not to come, but something in them sought Iris out all the same. They needed… something. Closure, perhaps? Whatever it was, they wouldn’t get it by waiting for her return.  
The journey was so much harder than they imagined. The destination, so much worse. They flinched at the sight of a rubbery man, though that stranger paid Lockhart no heed. Iris had sent them a single letter since arriving, to tell them she survived the journey. They went to her address and knocked.

A Soft-Hearted Widow opened the door. “Evenin’. Who’re you?”

“Good evening. I’m looking for Iris?”

“...Who’re you?” she repeated.

“I’m her--” Lockhart paused, unsure of where they currently stood. “We lived together, on the Surface. My name is Lockhart.”

The Soft-Hearted Widow’s face lit up. “Oh, the beau! She’s mentioned you. She’s out right now, if you wanna wait.”

Lockhart’s heart leapt. “Thank you, that would be lovely.”

They were lead to her bedroom. It had a beautiful view of someone else’s wall, a thin blanket, and the softest mattress Lockhart ever sat on. They reached between the mattress and the wall to find a book of case notes. Flipping through, they could tell she had made little progress on finding the killer.

When Iris arrived, Lockhart needed to look twice to recognize her. She was covered in scrapes and bruises, her clothing was strange, and her eyes were far away. Without saying a word, they pulled her into an embrace. She sunk into it, burying her face in their shoulder. Silence stretched, somehow both tense and comfortable. Eventually, Iris asked, “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know,” Lockhart said. “I just had to see you.”

“I can’t decide if I’m happy to see you or not.” Iris laughed humourlessly.

“Oh?”

“I kind of wish that your last memory of me was how I looked when I left.

“Last memory?” Lockhart repeated.

Iris left their embrace. “I don’t think I’m coming home.” There was a scream in the distance, but Iris didn’t even look up. She was used to that by now. “My work here is too important.”

“Your investigation?”

“Investigations. I’m searching for a woman who somehow ended up in the clay quarter; doing some initial research into Jack-of-Smiles; and trying to figure out how prisoners’ honey actually works.”

“And trying to find your brother’s killer?”

“That’s why I’m looking into prisoners’ honey.” Well, part of why. “Those petals that were found with his body held strange red honey. I’ve found someone who knows their source, but I can’t understand half the things he says. But I’m working on deciphering--” 

“--Iris--”

“His language pattern. It isn’t so much an accent as the result of too many bee stings, and--”

“Iris, focus,” Lockhart said.

“Right. Sorry… My point is that there are so many things to learn here. So many things I don’t understand and so many questions that burrow into my dreams. You know how I hate unanswered questions.”

“You hate them, but you also love them.”

Iris thought for a moment. “Yes.”

“More than you love me.”

Iris hated the truth, even as she spoke it. “...Yes.”

Lockhart wished she lied, but would never say it. Better to leave with whatever pride they had left. As they turned away, Iris fought the urge to stop them. She wanted to say something to make them stay. She wanted to beg them, bargain, use whatever tricks she could think of. But they deserved better than that. She forced herself to watch them leave.

The Neath sang to her. It was in a language she didn’t yet know, but she knew she would decipher it. She would find answers that were more wonderful and horrible than she could imagine. To Iris, that was worth lost love. It was worth any price.


End file.
